Japanese Movies
by lamentomori
Summary: A short story about CM Punk and his love of his kendo stick. (7 Sins continuity) Warnings: Slash (Colt/Punk), smut, inappropriate use of kendo sticks.


2nd person Colt PoV Warnings: Slash, Smut, Profanity, inappropriate usage of kendo sticks.

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"I know they just legalised gay marriage but you're gonna have an uphill battle to persuade them to let you marry a stick."

"Fuck!" He topples off the wall, thankfully on the floor of the balcony and not off the side of the building. "You trying to kill me, fucker?" He snaps, brushing his clothes down and sitting on the wall that surrounds the balcony.

"Do I get the house?" You ask, sitting beside him, he throws a half-assed punch at your shoulder.

"Already promised it to Chez, you're getting the Monte."

"Ah, I promise I'll take good care of her." You leer at him, leaving it up to him if you mean the car or his sister, his eyes narrow dangerously but you grin at him and he cuffs the back of your head.

"So what was that about sticks?" He picks up the kendo stick he'd been posing with on the wall, looking ridiculously unstable balanced on one foot with such a terrifyingly long drop on one side. "She's not _that_ skinny and I've no intention of marrying anyone."

"Not the girlfriend." You gesture to the stick in his hand. "I was referring to the lovely Ms. Kendo there." He rolls his eyes and takes a swing at you with the stick.

"Why _are _you here?"

"I was scoping the place out, making sure you were gone. Hot chicks are always more impressed when I bring them back here." He shakes his head and laughs at you. "The fuck were you doing?"

"My Mr Miyagi impression." You feel infintely more justified in laughing at him than he was at you.

"Do I want to know why?" You catch the end of the stick as he swings it at you again, tugging it from his hands easily. You turn it around in your hand, an idea creeping into your mind. "Actually, never mind. Where is the girlfriend anyway?"

"Elsewhere." He shrugs, as though he neither cares nor knows where she could be. It baffles you sometimes how women manage to put up with him, he's hardly the most interested boyfriend in the World. Punkers is the epitome of being a good friend but a horrible boyfriend, he generally doesn't give much of a fuck unless whoever he's dating is there, then she's the most important person in the World so long as someone or something more important doesn't need him. All those poor girls hearts he's broken because wrestling was more important to him, you suppose that's why he took to dating chicks in the business.

"Elsewhere? Specifics, Punkers. How likely is she to come back unexpectedly?" You prod his shoulder with the stick.

"Why? Oh! Right, I see. Elsewhere is far enough so long as you don't plan on taking all day."

"How many of these do you have?" You ask as you follow him inside.

"How many you want?" He strips off his shirt, tossing it to the floor, you find yourself picking it up after him, feeling rather like his mother.

"Dunno two, three maybe." You shrug and collect his shorts as he tosses them behind him too. You're incredibly glad of his fondness for going commando, enjoying the view as he keeps walking in front of you. He stops at the laundry room, where he pulls off his socks and sticks them in the washer.

"Over there." He waves one hand to the bundle of sticks in the corner. You want to ask him why the hell he has about twenty kendo sticks beside his dryer but then decide that the answer probably isn't all that interesting. You hand him the rest of his clothes and pick up another two sticks. Two is probably enough but you don't want to have changed your mind halfway through and have to come all the way back down here to get another one. A thin black scarf sitting on the counter catches your eye; your plans are edited slightly to include this in them.

Once in his bedroom, he lets you tie the scarf around his head, covering his eyes and lies back on the bed. You smile down at him, the trust he places in you always makes you far happier than it should but Punkers is a distrusting creature by nature and he lets you bind and blind him with little protest, his faith in you in immense and it's humbling. Plus he looks stupidly hot, naked, blindfolded and slowly hardening in anticipation of what you're going to do to him.

"Stop fucking grinning at me and get on with it." His voice jolts you out of your staring. You grab the ubiquitous role of athletic tape, the damn stuff follows you everywhere, you're fairly sure you have Raven to thank for Punk keeping some in the bedroom though. The night in some crappy motel after that dog collar match made the damn stuff a staple in your friendship with Punk. You wrap some tape around his ankle and then around the end of the kendo stick, binding his foot to it, you repeat the actions on his other foot. The stick and tape keeping him from closing his legs. "The fuck are you planning, Cabana?" He squirms slightly.

"Bend your legs." You tell him; you guide him, pressing his knees to his chest. "Stay there, just like this." You take his left hand and wrap tape around his wrist, then bind it to the stick beside his ankle, arm between his legs.

"Hey. Hey! Fucker, the hell you got planned here?" He doesn't stop you from binding his other wrist, just sounds concerned and loud.

"You'll see. Well you won't." You smirk at the blindfold. "But you'll find out." You stroke his outer thigh softly, getting off the bed to go and grab the lube from the drawer in the bedside cabinet. As you come back to the bed, settling at his side, you pour a little into your hand and begin to stroke his cock, long, slow, firm strokes making him harden in your hand. His breathing speeds up the harder he gets, you stroke him until his pre-cum is leaking steadily from the head of his cock. You move off the bed, stripping and watching him, his chest heaving, his arms bound to and legs forced apart by the kendo stick, leaving his cock, balls and ass exposed to you. "Turn over?" You ask him. You watch his eyebrows knit, the improvised blindfold not covering them.

"How the fuck do you expect me to fucking turn over, Cabana?" He struggles with the bindings briefly and then lies still. "You wanted me ass up, should have tied me that way, fucker." You laugh at him and shake your head before realising it's a useless gesture.

"Never say never, Punkers." It takes effort but you manage to manoeuvre him onto his front. All the effort was worth it though. The sight of him bound like this, face down, well if you're honest turned to the side so he can breathe but the point stands, his head is down and his ass is up, his wrists and ankles bound to a kendo stick, he's entirely exposed to you, completely at your mercy, your cock twitches. "You say stop and I stop, okay?" You ask him, moving to stand by his head, stooping to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Yeah, yeah. Get on with it." You stroke his ear as you stand, laugh as he tries to bite you. "How many fucking times, don't touch the ears."

"My hand slipped." You grab one of the other kendo sticks. "Won't slip this time though, promise."

"Huh?" He manages before you gently smack his ass with the stick. "Fuck! Warn me!" He snaps and you laugh.

"Why would I blindfold you only to tell you when I'm gonna hit you, Punkers? Makes no sense." You use the stick to caress his ass, soothing the hurt of the first strike. You've not decided how many strikes to give him; the first was a practice to see how hard you can hit him. The second is a little harder; he gasps at the force of the blow but doesn't complain. You smooth your hand over his ass, brush over his hole with your finger. He has no leverage to push back against you so he wriggles as much as he can, his intent is clear. You smirk and hit him again; another panted _fuck_ is all you get for it. The fourth strike comes quickly. You grab the bottle of lube from where you tossed it on the comforter and slick one finger; you slide it inside of him, pressing against his prostate gently.

"More." He gasps. You pull your finger from him and hit his ass once more. He's panting, his cock slowly softening through lack of attention; you stroke him whilst considering how many more times to hit him. You slide you finger back inside of him, moving it slowly in and out of him. Ten, you settle on, it's a nice round number. Six and seven are gentle quick taps, whilst eight is as hard as you can hit him without hurting him overly; it makes him quiver and moan. You gently finger and jack him for a few minutes to let him get him get his breath back. "Okay." He pants softly; you kiss his shoulder and deliver the ninth strike more gently, quickly following it up with the tenth as hard as number eight. It makes him cry out, his hands clenching and unclenching, toes curling.

"Okay?" You ask, taking his cock back in your hand, stroking him firmly, quickly, the way he likes it.

"Okay." He replies eventually.

"So do you want me or the lovely Ms. Kendo here?" You ask him, letting go of his cock and leaning away from him, his ass is redder than you've ever seen it, it looks fucking gorgeous.

"You want to fuck me with a stick?" He moans as you gently rub his ass-cheeks.

"Not what I asked, Punkers. Which do you want to fuck you?" You slick your fingers and begin properly opening him up. "Me or the stick?" He makes a vague noise. "Punk?" You prompt him, as much as you want to watch the stick move inside of him and you do want to see that, it was the very kernel of this whole scene in your mind, you're not doing anything until he's approved it.

"Fuck, top drawer, fucker." You might have played little dirty; stroking his prostate is probably outright cheating to get your own way. You grab a condom from the top drawer, you roll it over the end of the stick and consider why it is you never wear one when you fuck, wonder what manner of curious Punk-logic has been applied to you, most likely something to do with not being able to get pregnant and trusting you to not give him VD. You slide the kendo stick inside of him carefully, fucking him with it slowly. His moans and gasps are soft and frequent.

"Feel good?" You ask him, leaning over his body, speaking close to his ear. He doesn't answer you, just keeps making those soft noises, you know you're smirking at him, there is something horribly rewarding about reducing him to a mess like this, his impressive self-control in shreds because of your actions.

"Stop, stop, enough. Fuck me." He pants; you remove the stick from him, slick your cock and slide into him in its place. You know you won't last long inside of him so you take to jacking him off quickly, chasing his orgasm, trying to get him off as soon as possible. You fuck him just as quickly as you jerk his cock and feel a rush of pride when he comes so quickly in your hand, his body tightening, pulsing around you as your own orgasm flows over you. You pull out of him and lie beside him, panting, trying to get your own breath back and pressing kisses to his sweaty brow.

"You okay?" You ask him once you've recovered enough to be able to talk. You take the blindfold from his face; unbind his wrists and ankles, rubbing his limbs to get the blood flowing back to them. He makes a vague noise and nods.

"Eventually." He sounds tired. "Shower?" He stands on shaky legs, stretches in that entirely inappropriately sexy manner he's adopted, he's unbelievably _bendy_, it's something you've taken advantage of many times, just did take advantage of, really.

"I'll change the sheets, shower after." You tell him, if you join him in there, you'll decide to make a mess of him again. "Stop fucking posing and go get clean." He smirks at you and leaves. You change the bedclothes with practiced ease, stick the dirty sheets in the washer and turn it on, stuff the trio of sticks back with their brothers and shower in the guest bathroom quickly. You find him in the lounge, messing with the huge stack of DVDs near the TV. You flop on the sofa and wait for him to pick something to watch. Once he's stuck a DVD in the player, he curls up at your side, rests his head on your shoulder, wraps an arm about your waist and makes himself comfy against you.

"Seven Samurai, Punkers?" You drape your arm around his shoulders and rest your own head on his.

"Research. I need to improve my form."

"At least it's not Karate Kid." You sigh, squeeze him and settle down to watch the movie. About an hour later, the girlfriend returns. She sits on the other sofa. Clever girl, you think. Several pervious girlfriends have tried to assert their power and position in their relationship with Punkers by attempting to snuggle him when you're already occupying that spot. Punk doesn't take too kindly to that and it inspires a great deal of smugness in you that you are one of the few people who are more important to him than wrestling. Snuggling with you will always overrule snuggling his girlfriend, which he would decidedly argue this was not, argue that he is not a snuggler and you missed your best opportunity to get photographic evidence to the contrary.

"What you guys been up to all day then?" She asks eventually. You feel him shrug.

"Nothing, just watching Japanese movies."

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Quick note on the title: Japanese Movies is Chinese slang for porn.

For those of you interested chapter 4 of Chicxulub Crater should be ready tomorrow, I hope.


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